


Pseudoscience (Rick Sanchez x Reader)

by TLOZchik



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: F/M, Rick and Morty - Freeform, Rick x Reader, rick sanchez - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLOZchik/pseuds/TLOZchik
Summary: You are the ageless, immortal psychologist of the criminals dangerous enough to be wanted for serious crimes against the Galactic Federation. The monsters come and go, with most blurring together as each decade becomes a century, and centuries become millennias. Though your personal story spans over thousands of years, this one encompasses only the time spent in therapy sessions with the infamous Rick Sanchez, one of the only inmates to stand out among the ocean of psychopaths. A complex character of contradictions, obscenities, and insecurities, most of which are hidden behind his distrusting intellect and cruel nature. You, however, are not one to turn down a challenge. After all, you have all the time in the world.





	1. Day One

"Remember, Doctor, this isn't just an ordinary Tuesday. This is THE Rick Sanchez. Intergalactic, inter-DIMENSIONAL terrorist. He's done everything in the book, and plenty worse." The way down to the VIP security cells was always a bit of a ride. Long, emotionally trying, and of course, complete with the threat of a technical malfunction that could send you plummeting in a tiny box to your doom. You'd have thought the federation could've splurged on a better railing system decades ago, but whenever a complaint was made, it was usually met with a door in the face. The worst part about the ride down to the part of the prison with the highest security, however, was never the constant vibrations, the squeaky rails, the sudden stops, or even the reminder that ninety-nine percent of the beings in the largest prison in the multiverse would most likely love to kill you slowly. By far, the worst part of every trip down to the underbelly of the prison was listening to Resol talk about how dangerous your next patient would be. You didn't even bother to look over at your assistant this time as he droned.

"...Easily THE worst criminal the Galactic Federation has ever seen. He's in for everything. Literally EVERYTHING. When they convicted him, the list of crimes was so long, they had to-" Of course, you'd read the man's file. Four times, to be exact. As if once wasn't enough, (which it never really was.) As an ageless, immortal being from a dimension of humanoid organisms who had conquered death, time was never technically an object. You quite literally had all the time in the world, but nonetheless, you could always count on Resol to waste it. The man was a hyperactive, obsessive workaholic with an unfathomable fascination with the intergalactic criminal mind. Once he started talking about his job, nothing could ever shut him up. To be completely honest though, you never had the heart to tell him that. If he wasn't thinking about work, he could never be happy. In the thirty years he'd been by your side, you'd come to know him well enough to be aware that there was nothing else in his life to look forward to. As a being that had been alive for nearly ten thousand years now, you had a pretty good idea how that felt. Luckily for Resol, he wouldn't have to live through it forever.

The rusty track made another trademark screech as it switched directions from a diagonal descent to one that would take you straight down. And as expected, as the transparent box drew deeper, the inmates got creepier. A four-legged muscular slug man, a vampiric tiger with scaled flesh and red eyes, a giant white spider with hand-like appendages at each foot, an enormous six-headed cockroach with a scorpion tail and rabbit ears without fur, on and on the list could go. If you could think of it, it was here in galactic prison. By this point, no unspeakably strange being from God knows where could surprise you. 

"And don't get me started on- wait, Doctor? Doctor! It's him! It's Rick Sanchez! Look, over there by Dolphineas Death-Dealer!" Resol shook your shoulder, pointing across the next horizontal tunnel of cells like a madman. Reluctantly following his frantic gesturing, you found the face that matched the mugshot. Sure enough, the glorified box on wheels shuddered to a stop on its vertical axis, and slowly drifted through the tunnel of cells before it stopped with a jerk in front of the same holding cell. The moving box let out a mechanical sigh as both sets of doors opened, connecting by the small, narrow metal walkway attached to each cell to allow access in and out. 

"Resol, hand me the file and my notes, please." You commanded, holding out your hand. The fly-headed assistant was finally quiet as he obediently handed over the documents and backed into a corner in the box. As if this were any other appointment, which it technically was, you spent no time waiting for a response from Resol before making your way across the walkway. Your hand had barely touched the doorknob before you heard him speak up again in a frightened tone.

"D-Doctor?" You paused, turning your head slightly to indicate that you were listening. 

"What is it, Resol?" You responded dutifully. Resol cleared his throat nervously.

"Please be careful." He spoke in a low, fretting voice. Even without examining his facial features, you could sense the sudden anxiety in his voice. And while it was not out of character for Resol to be somewhat skittish, you knew that in this particular case, he was completely justified. Despite this, you were always capable of maintaining control and confidence, even if it had to be a complete façade.

"I always am, Resol. This time is no different." You turned over your shoulder to give your assistant a brief smile before turning back to the door and placing your palm flat against the knob. 

**SCANNING** The electronic knob robotically responded to your touch, emitting a faint, flashing green light that slowly sped up until the scanner was satisfied with the input. **WELCOME, DOCTOR** The robotic woman's voice monotonously chimed, as you could hear the latch on the door disengage. The knob turned, and the door slid down into the floor, allowing you to enter. 

The click of your high heels against the metallic floor of the cell caused slight, high-pitched echoes to follow your footsteps as you entered the small room. Behind you, the sound of the door sliding back up at rapid speed could be heard quietly. The walls from the inside were a completely opaque silver, giving those inside the illusion of privacy they didn't receive from the outside, from which everything was completely see-through. The one-way glass effect always led to some...uncomfortable experiences for passersby, who were quite often subjected to watching inmates use the restroom, shower, disrobe, or masturbate. By this point in time however, after being committed to your job for almost four thousand years, you were so used to walking in on such things that nothing of the sort truly fazed you anymore. That was exactly why when you noticed your current patient desperately picking his nose with the hand that wasn't chained to his chair, you simply headed to the chair opposite his and took your seat without judgement. Crossing your legs, you adjusted the file and notes in your lap, pulling out and clicking a pen in your hand. 

"I can wait until you are finished, Mr. Sanchez." You let him know calmly, not bothering to look up at him as you made a small note of this first impression. He let out a grunt in acknowledgement as he continued.

"Much ap-PREE-ciated," he burped mid-sentence, seeming to become satisfied as he pulled out a sizable amount of debris from inside his nasal cavity and proceeded to flick it towards your chair. "Whoo-OOP-s," he added nonchalantly, watching for your reaction. You gave none, simply kicking the booger behind you with your shoe, and sitting up straight to look him straight in the eyes for the first time. 

"Rick Sanchez. You're quite the intergalactic celebrity, or so I hear." You gave a coy smile. Instead of outright replying, Rick let out a deep sigh and seemed to crumble into a less than comfortable looking position. 

"Do you believe everything that you hear?" He reached into his pocket as if trying to grab at something, before the realization of it not being there set on his face. He let a shaky hand down to his side, closing his eyes and letting out another sigh. You watched his behavior curiously.

"Is it alcohol that you need, Mr. Sanchez?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

"Look, as much as I love being addressed as if I was Christian motherfucking Grey, I hate feeling like I'm being addressed as if I was Christian motherfucking Grey. Mostly because I'm pretty sure he's just the popularized real life representation of the common sexual slave fantasy created by someone who is rea-EA-lly into some kinky shit, and also, because no one would be able to take me se-EAR-riously ever again." Rick shuffled his position, tugging incessantly at the chains on his wrist and cursing a few times before simply seeming to give up and fall back in his chair like a deflated balloon. 

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say, Mr. Sanchez." He noticeably cringed at the last part of your sentence. "If you'd like me to call you something else, I'm open to suggestions." You watched with interest as he flopped over the seat headfirst, as if trying to touch his forehead to his shins. He responded haphazardly, giving out a mumbled ramble that sounded a bit too much like a case of word salad.

"Oh, gee, I'm not sure, how about we just take a rain check. Not on that, just like- this whole thing. Just one big rain check. On everything. It'll be kind of like those ones you get at- at Costco, or whatever. Except, you know, instead of going back and spending the measly five dollars or something on whatever mediocre buy-in-bulk crap they try to sell you, you just keep the five the-EE-or ethical dollars, and like, shove them in a drawer somewhere, and then like the next day when you try to cash it in, they say it expired last year or something, and...and then you're just trapped. You're just trapped in this endless cycle of regret and confusion, because you may as well have just taken those five dollars and chopped them up into little pieces and it wouldn't have mattered anyways, because currency only holds the value you give it. And - and... And that means that you could literally take anything, like, like, a-a...uh...a paperclip, yes, that'll work, a paperclip, you could take a paperclip and say, say to someone, like "this paperclip is worth five dollars" and if they took it, you know, they'd have to be a REAL moron, but they'd also just be adhering to the rules of society, because technically, if Costco gave me that paperclip and said it was a rain check w-OR-rth five dollars, and then I gave it to that guy, he'd be five dollars richer. I mean, until Costco tells them- tells them they don't accept paperclips anymore because that paperclip is expired and all that, but you get what I'm saying? You get it? Big rain check. Let's take it. Yup. Huge. Ass. Motherfucking. Rain check." You gave him a blank stare, pen in hand. 

"Alright, Rick." You clicked the pen back into place, setting it back on the notepad, letting him see by your body language that you were ready to listen as well as work. "First thing's first," you uncrossed your legs, leaning forward in your chair as you reached over to hand him the Federation's extensive file on Rick Sanchez. He gave one look at it, and looked back up to you. Both of you waited in silence for a moment too long, as he seemed unsure whether or not he wanted to take it from you. You raised an eyebrow with your arm outstretched, finally beginning to pull back assuming the latter. As you did so, however, he quickly seemed to make up his mind, snatching it away in an instant with prying hands. "You have quite the file, Rick." You reiterated, as he opened the file and began leafing through it impatiently. "I'm admittedly impressed as well as a bit repulsed."

"You know what I'm NOT impressed with?" Rick interjected, completely disregarding your previous statement. He raised an eyebrow, pointing several times to various sections of the file, all of which seemed to have been reported incidents he had involvement in. "Any of THIS. Do you see this? Do you SEE that?"

"What am I supposed to see, Rick?" You asked patiently, sighing inwardly. 

"Of course you don't see. You're a bureaucrat, you love your little papers, and your stupid little files, and your pigeon-holed little fucked up reports written by underpaid interns at three in the morning, but that's not the point here." He continued on in his insulting manner. "What you don't see, of course, is THIS." He made a show of taking the file in his one hand and dropping it on the floor. "I don't give a fuck." Well, this was certainly a great first impression to make on his end. Not quite knowing what words to say in that moment, you decided to just keep your mouth shut. You stood up, strode over to where he sat, knelt down, and looked directly into his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking straight ahead into space, refusing to look at you. You resisted the urge to chuckle at his juvenile mannerisms and you bent, and picked up the scattered pages of his file at his feet. The whole time, neither one of you made any attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.

When you were finished, you stood up with the complete file in hand, smoothed down the slightly raised edges of your pencil skirt, and proceeded to stroll back to your seat, where you picked up the pen and notes. You turned to Rick, items in hand, and gave him a smile. 

"Big rain check it is. I'll see you in the morning, Rick Sanchez." You spoke his full name, earning not one glance in your direction, as was to be expected based off his exhibited behavior. Not bothering to wait for him to reply, you turned and headed for the door. Just as you were about to touch your hand to the scanner, however, you heard him clear his throat behind you. 

"Oh, yeah, and tell your assistant that his name is just loser backwards. He probably should've just been aborted like his parents had undoubtedly wanted in the first place." 

"He knows that already, Rick." You responded without emotion, not letting on to what you really wanted to say back.

"Oh damn. Jeeeez, that's got to suck. Well, I guess there's no need for spreading any more awareness today then. Totally my bad." By the time he'd finished that sentence, you were already out the door, with it closing behind you almost instantly.


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cashing in a rain check.

Today would go much differently, you were absolutely certain. You clutched the handle of the large, full paper bag in one hand and the railing that lined the moving box with the other. The contents of the bag moved around incessantly, clinking together like a symphony of silverware. Today, Resol was somewhat quiet as the box made its unsteady descent into the depths of the prison. 

The only clear sounds that could be heard were the clanking of the contents within the paper bag, and the uneasy humming of the rail system outside. Occasionally, there was a short echo that came after the vibrations from the box's movements, as the empty space below stretched further than anyone would care to think. 

You felt the ground quiver as the box switched directions from diagonal to vertical, letting a violent shake disturb the elevator. Your body moved a little as you shifted to accommodate the movement, while Resol could be heard making a little squeak as he lurched to the side and hit the wall of the box with his oversized head.

"Ouch!" He wailed in pain, making a show of rubbing his forehead and scowling. "I hate this piece of shit!" Resol complained, kicking the floor and causing yet another apocalyptic shake. This time, he was so startled that he yelped like a whipped dog and latched onto your arm for dear life. You couldn't help but smile with amusement as the box soon stabilized, but he remained clutching onto you with his insect-like bony arms. 

"It's alright, Resol. The elevator has worked since I started here four thousand years ago. It will not stop now." You tried to comfort him as he shook like a leaf beside you.

"Easy for you to say!" He scoffed, letting go of your arm hastily. "It's not like YOU would even bat an eye if this archaic shoe-box went crashing into oblivion, YOU can't die." You shook your head, rolling your eyes. "Meanwhile," he continued to protest, "I'm going to be stuck at the bottom of who knows where until I starve to death, and that's if I'm not lucky enough to be splattered all over the place when we hit the ground first!" 

"Don't be so dramatic," you spoke calmly, examining your reflection closely in the glass, "you'd be dead once you hit the ground. You'd barely feel a thing. Even as an immortal, I can still feel pain." The slim, feminine face in the glass was free of wrinkles, acne, or scars of any kind. Rapid repair of the epidermis was just one of the many benefits you reaped from immortality. Your limbs, however, were another story. Broken ones healed within weeks. Severed ones, however, took years. All the while, the regrowth and healing processes of any kind caused excruciating and constant pain. Pain so severe in some cases, it would cause immortals to beg for a death that would never come.

"Wow, that makes me feel sooo much better, thank you." Resol muttered sarcastically, throwing his arms in the air. 

The box moved horizontally through the desired row of cells before coming to a sudden stop at the same cell as yesterday. 

"Resol, the file, and my notes, please." You gestured for your assistant to place the items in your hand. He obliged, and then proceeded to wordlessly back into the corner of the box, crossing his thin, prickly arms across his chest. You hoisted the bag up momentarily, making sure everything was secure as you made your way across the narrow path between the box and the cell door.

**WELCOME, DOCTOR** the robotic voice of the scanner greeted your familiar handprint, and you entered Rick's cell as swiftly as you had the day before, with it closing behind in its abrupt manner. 

"Cashing in the rain check so soon, are we?" Rick's voice called out to you from his spot, chained to the chair. 

"It's good to see you again, Rick." You smiled pleasantly as you lugged the heavy paper bag along with the file and notes in the other hand. You noticed him watching the bag suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at it as you set it down by the chair. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you placed the notes and file on your lap.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" He asked gruffly, but you could sense the undeniable sound of uncertainty in his voice. You nonchalantly pulled a large bottle from the bag, and held it up in front of you. He watched you, seeming slightly surprised as you took a bottle opener from the bag and swiftly unsealed the cap. The light hiss of carbonation could be heard emanating from the open bottle, as you slowly set aside the cap and took a drink. The bitter taste of ethanol burned the back of your throat as you chugged down the gulp. You then held up the bottle again, and held it out for him to take. 

"It's a present. Go on. Drink." He took ahold of the bottle with the hand that wasn't chained to the chair and swirled the contents suspiciously.

"You brought me booze?" He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't it say in your weak ass file about me that I'm a raging alcoholic? What's your game?" He looked back up at you, a menacing glint in his eyes. It was clear to you that he was beginning to torture himself with the drink in hand, not knowing whether or not it was a good idea to imbibe. 

"There's no game. This is simply a peace offering, in hopes that you'll learn to trust me more. It'll help you relax, Rick." You pulled another bottle from the bag and opened it, taking another big swig. In truth, you didn't make a habit of drinking too often. The overlying taste of liquor tasted quite strong to you, making it an overall unpleasant experience when done in large amounts. In this case scenario, however, you deemed it wise to show that there was no harm in it, more for his benefit than yours. 

"You're not human. How am I supposed to know that whatever this is won't just turn me deaf or something?"

"Think of it this way, Rick, how would that ever benefit me?" You retorted, taking another sip of the bland, grain-tasting beverage. "I need you to hear me when I'm talking to you, otherwise it'd be like conversing with a wall. Then, I can't do the job I was sent here to do. Don't you see how silly that would be?" Rick still looked at you with suspicion, narrowing his eyes further. "Just drink the beer. You only live once, you know."

"Implying that you don't." He replied calmly. You couldn't help but let out a short laugh as you shook your head.

"Indeed." You responded casually, looking up into his hostile, distrusting eyes. "I don't."

"Vampire?" He asked accusingly, at which you shook your head.

"No."

"Demon?"

"Wrong again, Rick."

"Angel?"

"I'm flattered, but no."

"Ugh. What the fuck are you then? Some sort of being from a dimension or planet or whatever that found the cure for death?" He raved. You grinned even wider. He looked at you in defeat, albeit, slightly awed. "Seriously?"

"You'd think that a human who has been across so many dimensions that he forgets which one he's wound up in would not have such a hard time accepting what I am."

"That's different. You're an immortal, wh-what even are you? Why do you look so...?"

"Humanoid?" You suggested.

"Yes." He took a swig of the alcohol for the first time, gurgling it in his mouth happily. "Oh, yes..." You took a moment to admire how happy he seemed as he took another drink. "If you're a be-EE-ing that's been around for thousands of years, and your people, or whatever they were, invented this cure for death even before THAT, then  
lo-AH-gically speaking, you shouldn't seem at all human." He deducted. You tilted your head to the side thoughtfully. 

"Well, Rick," you puckered your lips sheepishly, "to tell you the truth, the inhabitants of my original planet were fascinated with Earth. In particular, they admired the appearances of the human race." You admitted. "Though it was a very long time ago, it was commonly known that humans were often taken there and forced to breed an aesthetically pleasing race. My mother was one of them, although to this day that is the only thing I know about her." He paused, seeming lost in thought for a moment as he examined your face closely. After a silent, awkward full minute of him simply sitting there and staring at you, you began to feel a bit uncomfortable. You took another long drink before clicking your pen and taking out your notes. 

"What are you?" He suddenly asked, in a flat out, matter of fact tone. It sounded almost more like a declaration than a question. Instead of looking up to answer his question, you began to record observations from earlier behavior that you had previously neglected to write.

"I'm a psychologist, Rick. That's all you really have to know." You responded flatly. Rick seemed to not be very satisfied with that answer, as he let out a belch and mumbled something to himself in frustration. He flung his head back and took another few gulps of beer. 

"You- you knew what I meant, Doc." You put down the pen on top of the notebook and sighed. It wasn't as if where you were from was a secret, anyway.

"I'm what you'd call an Aethir, one of many from a planet named Aeternum three galaxies over from the Milky Way." You replied briskly. 

"Aeternum is just Latin for eternal. Which also makes no sense if your species found the cure or death so long ago." Rick pointed out. 

"It wasn't always Aeternum. It was renamed sometime during the time whilst the Roman Empire reigned on Earth." You responded. "But Mr. Sanchez- sorry - Rick, these sessions aren't about me. I'm not the one in chains." Rick snorted, taking another drink.

"Way to rub it in, Doc." He swallowed the last few drops of beer in his bottle, coming up for air with a disappointed look on his face. He turned the bottle upside down and shook it, sighing sadly. 

"You drink like a sailor." You observed out loud, at which he just glanced in your direction and huffed, tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder. It hit the floor with a crash, shattering into multiple glinting brown fragments.

"Again, didn't your stu-OO-pid file te-EH-ll you that I'm an alcoholic?" You chuckled.

"Even if it hadn't, I would've known right away." You said matter-of-factly. It was Rick's turn to let out a belch and a snort of laughter.

"Of cou-OR-rse you would've. You're a several thousand year old psychologist. You read into people's habits like a porn star fucks, really hard and de-EH-finitely too often." 

"And I'm paid to do it." You added with a playful smirk.

"Ha! Now you get it!" He grinned back excitedly. "Got any more booze in that Mary Poppins voodoo paper bag of yours?" You reached in, taking out another bottle and popping the lid open. 

"I've got plenty. But- you can't have any more." You teased not so subtly, swirling the liquid in the bottle while he watched with irritation. "Unless," you clicked your pen, "you choose to work with me, and be a good boy." You held out the bottle temptingly. Rick huffed, looking off to the side with a dismissive scowl.

"Well, you're shit out of luck. I just got bored. And just for the record, I'm not a dog. Your attempts at positive reinforcement are about as effective as using a Capri Sun straw in a medieval jousting match." Inwardly, you were a little disappointed, but fortunately, you had planned for him to refuse the first time. 

"Suit yourself, Rick." You shrugged, pulling back the bottle and tilting it toward the ground. A few splashes of beer fell from the bottle and onto the floor, as Rick's eyes suddenly went wide.

"Woah, woah, hey!" He exclaimed. You tilted the bottle right-side up, raising an eyebrow at his sudden change of demeanor. "I didn't take you for a beer wasting crazy bitch!" He angrily barked, tugging at the chain as he reached forward to try and grab the bottle with his other hand. 

"And I didn't take you for a cry baby, but here we are," you retorted, pouring more of the precious beer on the floor. Rick seemed to struggle internally in his chair, gritting his teeth angrily as he watched the fluid fall from the edge of the bottle top to splash in little wet circular patterns at his feet. 

"Okay, okay, okay! I get it! I'll answer some of your moronic questions, just...just stop what you're doing!" He reached out, taking the hand that held the bottle in his own in an attempt to stop you from spilling any more. You put your other hand on top of his and squeezed it lightly, giving him a tiny smile.

"Good answer." You allowed the bottle to slip through your fingers, and he gently took it in hand, snatching it into his body as if it were an infant. "And," you continued, reaching your hand back into the bag and pulling yet another beer out, "there's plenty more where that came from. If you cooperate with me, that is."He took a huge swig of beer before burping and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Is this even, I don't know, le-EE-gal? Wouldn't the Federation of Fucktards be pissed at you for bribing their inmates with alcohol?" He asked pointedly. You shrugged.

"I'm not telling anyone if you aren't." At this, you noticed he couldn't help but give a coy smile in your direction. You pretended not to notice, let alone show him how happy you were that you had pulled through. You clicked your pen for what seemed like the millionth time, placing the tip on the paper expectantly. 

"Ha-A-ve it your way, Doc." Rick took another gulp of beer. "But j-U-ust for the record, blackmail doesn't make us friends."

"You're free to think whatever helps you sleep at night, Rick." You replied coolly. "Let's talk."

"UH-bout what?" He burped lazily, allowing his free arm to swing at his side, bottle in hand. 

"Today, you can talk about whatever you wish, and I'll listen." 

"So will Mr. Loser out there, of course," he took another sloppy drink, "he's been listening this whole time, hasn't he?" You smiled, seeing for yourself that the tales of this man's intellect were true.

"Until now." You winked. Upon hearing the signal, the sound of the elevator leaving could be heard. "You have my word, Rick Sanchez," you said his full name for emphasis as you unfastened the first three buttons of your blouse. He watched your movements carefully and with interest as you reached into your shirt and pulled out the listening wire that had been attached to your breast. You held it up so he could see, and swiftly tossed it towards the door. The green light that had lit up the end of the wire flashed red a few times before going dead black. 

"Do you h-OH-nestly expect me to believe that that was the only wire you had?" He took another drink and rolled his eyes. "Puh-lease, multiple wires is the o-OL-ldest trick in the book. You should probably just unbutton it all the way. Just to make sure, -UH-f course."


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To heal oneself without the comfort of time is a painful thing...

**WELCOME, DOCTOR** 

The robotic female voice chimed her usual greeting in the same void-of-life manner she seemed to have always had. Just as you had yesterday, you toted the paper bag of clinking bottles at your side in one hand, and your notes in the other. Today, however, your skin beneath the white, button up blouse you wore felt naked, absent the familiar sensation of a recording wire. The feeling of silken fabric on bare skin was alien, but satisfying to your flesh. More satisfying, however, was the just as alien spark of excitement that electrified you as you touched the door. 

"Resol, stay outside if you must and observe, but from here on out, unless I say otherwise, audio cannot be monitored during my sessions with Rick Sanchez." You called to your assistant over your shoulder as you entered the cell. Resol did not have time to respond before the cell door swallowed the empty walkway, with you on its tongue. 

Once inside, however, you stopped abruptly in place. You scanned the seemingly empty silver room curiously, noting the numerous peculiarities. Shattered amber-colored glass littered the floor, matching the scattered metallic caps and torn, crumpled labels that accompanied the broken bottle paraphernalia. The two chairs you both used for previous therapy sessions had been knocked over and bashed against the wall, as was shown by various superficial, violent looking dents. A feeling of malice was laced into the atmosphere of the cell, and the smell and sight of sanguine footprints on the floor. Your eyes lingered on the bloody tracks, following them with a steady gaze as they crept into the shower. Setting the bag and notes at your feet, you let out a sigh as you made your way towards the tiny extension of the already tiny cell. 

"Whossere...?" A raspy, slurred voice could be heard groaning before letting out a large belch. You didn't know what you should expect to see once the curtain was drawn, so you mentally prepared for the worst. You put a hand on the curtain.

"Rick? Are you alright?" You asked softly, not wanting to cause him pain if he was currently suffering a headache. The sound of shuffling and unintelligible grunts could be heard from the other side.

"Oh, it's...it's you." You heard him faintly mumble. Another loud belch rang out in the tiny shower. "I almo-OH-st forgot." He grumbled as if in pain. "I...I need an-UH-ther rain check. A big one." Your eyes trailed down to your feet, where a small river of dried blood once trickled past.

"Rick, you're scaring me," you tried to calmly reason with him, "you're injured, aren't you? I can smell you bleeding." You listened. "Can I come in?" 

"You..." Rick could be heard chuckling weakly, as his body could be heard flopping against the wall. "You're a little creep, a-AREN't you? I bet...I bet you're just...just dying to rip open the curtains and...I don't know, do what you creepy...creep weirdos do? You're gonna...you're gonna r-APE me, aren't you? You're gonna shove something in my butthole...you're gonna...you're gonna straight up Bill Cosby my butthole, right here...right in the...in the sh-OW-er...you're gonna fuckin'...spread my ass cheeks...and...and...and give my pooper a raspberry or something, aren't you? You fuckin'... fuckin' creepy-ass Cosby motherfucking..." He trailed off. Perfect, you thought as you bit your cheek, he was going into another half-awake ramble.

"Rick, no one is going to rape you." You tried to reassure him, closing your eyes and sighing.

"Spoken like someone who wants to rape me." Rick grumbled back. 

"No, Rick. There is no one here that wants to rape you." You replied calmly. He burped again, groaning another string of nonsense.

"Look, look, if you're gon...gonna wanna violate my asshole, just, just get it over with right now...I'll even...I'll even squeal like a- like a-"

"Rick."

"-like a little pig for ya...if you want...I won't even try to st-OP you or nothin', I got no fight in me...I'm hurt...hurt real bad in here. So I'll be e-EE-asy to violate, real easy. It'll be like I was asking for it, you know? That's...that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Goodness, Rick."

"You like that, don't you, you sick fuck, fuckin fuck-piece of shit?!"

"Rick, stop."

"No...no..I get it, you're one of those like, like 'shut up and take it'...no, that's...that's okay too...I can do that too...you...just gotta promise...just gotta promise you're gonna be gentle with my delicate du-UH-nghole-"

"RICK."

"No, no, you're right, that...that was s-ILLY of me to e-EE-ven ask...it's not like...like it's my decision...how you ravage the area...I just...I just...I wanted to believe you would listen...I wanted to believe that you cared...how I felt...before you straight up CO-sbied my pooper..." Oh boy. 

"Seriously, Rick, I'm coming in." You clutched the curtain and prepared to shove it aside. 

"No you're NOT-!" Just as you began to push open the shower, you felt a powerful force collide with your ankle, causing you to collapse with a pained grunt to the floor. 

"Dammit, Rick-!" You started to curse as you tried to pull yourself back to your feet. You heard the sound of a struggle on the floor, having only a second to gather your wits before a tall shape leaped out from under the curtain at you with a growl. Your eyes widened slightly as a naked, bloody Rick launched himself on top of you brandishing a broken bottle above his head in one particularly bloody hand. 

"You son of a b-ITCH!!" He burped angrily, looking crazy in the eyes as he shakily pushed the sharp edge of glass to your neck. Although a bit shocked, you remained as calm as possible. You didn't even wince as he pushed the edge deep into your skin. 

"Don't try it, Rick." You warned, trying to meet his delusional eyes with your sane ones. His eyebrows twitched rampantly as he stared down at you, a bit of saliva hanging limply from his lips as he hyperventilated from his mouth like a maniac. 

"You really think you can fool me into thinking you're not some sort of fucking, fucking, alien bitch from the planet of alien bitch orgies?! You really think you can pull a fast one on me, huh?! Do you?!" He raved, inadvertently spitting in your face every so often as he sputtered and shook. You knew that fighting back was not a good option, and would likely lead you back to square one with him. Instead, you simply endured the pain as he slowly sliced into your neck. "You stupid son of a bitch beer wasting, walkie-talkie boobed, anal raping Bill Cosby motherfucker!"

"Rick, let go of the broken bottle." 

"Oh yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, you little penis-breathed ball sack licking pile of shit?!" He barked in your face like a madman. 

"You are about to do something you're going to regret. I'm advising that you let me go." You replied, feeling the wound begin to painfully try to heal itself with the sharp glass still under your skin. The sensation didn't escape Rick's attention either, as he looked down at the cut on your neck and seemed to have a near conniption. 

"Holy fucking shit!" He spat, letting go of the glass and pushing himself away like a spooked deer. Though you were relieved, you let out a gasp as the bottle remained lodged in place within your neck. You gripped the top with both hands, letting out a cry of pain as you yanked it out. The wound reopened with a loud gurgle, as a bit of your blood spurted from the hole in your neck. You couldn't help but continue to lie on your back in agony and squeeze your eyes shut as a soft hissing sound, like that of a deflating tire, could be heard emanating from the deep gash. You knew Rick was watching, eyes wide with both fascination and horror as you clenched your teeth together and whimpered repeatedly, waiting impatiently for the brutally painful healing process to be over. Sweat rose to your forehead as your chest rose and fell in deep, ragged breaths. 

About two minutes of agonizing pain later, you opened your eyes, blinking back tears as you slowly sat up. You met eyes with the shell-shocked looking Rick and took a deep breath before smiling and laughing, despite the discomfort of the situation. 

"Rapid healing is a real bitch, you know. Usually even worse than the injury itself." You pulled yourself up to your feet and brushed the wrinkles away from your clothing. Unfortunately, your white shirt was quite visibly stained with blood, something not as easily healed as your own flesh. 

"You're a fucking freak show, Doc. That's what you are. A fucking- weird ass piece of shit." Rick seemed unsure of what to do as he stood in front of the shower, still bloody, and naked as the day he was born. You ignored his backhanded insult, and strode over to where he stood. 

"Where are you bleeding, Rick?" You reached out and took his wounded hand to examine the gashes. He yanked it away, crossing his arms like a stubborn toddler.

"Yeah, no. The last time I trusted a young looking female, I ended up balls deep in a truck full of live worms being pursued by the government while my family of fucktards screamed bloody murder the whole time like it was fucking Saw twenty-six. Some even tried to crawl inside me. Not my family. I mean the worms. That came out wrong. Do you have any idea how it feels to have worms try to crawl inside your ass?" 

"No idea." You replied precariously, taking back his hand and opening his palm. 

"It feels pretty good." He added as you examined the cuts carefully. "Actually, now that I think about it, I highly recommend that part. The rest of it can suck my dick." You nodded, not bothering to respond with words as you begrudgingly scowled at the wound. 

"You're lucky I don't have AIDS, Rick." You sighed in frustration as you let go of the hand and walked back to where the broken bottle laid on the floor. 

"Wait...what?" Rick raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" You took back his hand and positioned it open and palm-up beneath your own.

"I'm fixing your mess, Rick." In one, swift motion, you sliced your own palm on the sharp edge of the broken glass.

"Jesus Christ, are you fucking insane?!" Rick pulled back his hand, but not before a few drops of blood fell into his palm. Almost instantly, he began to shriek in pain as the open wounds hissed aggressively in his palm. 

"That should heal in a little less than an hour. You're welcome, by the way." You smiled through the searing pain in your own palm. Yours would be gone in a matter of minutes, at least. 

"Fuck you! I'd rather have had you just cut off my hand!" You watched him, admittedly in slight amusement, as he did everything he could to alleviate the suffering. He shook it at the wrist like the tail of a rattlesnake, pounded it against the wall, even tried to gnaw at it before you stopped him. 

"Don't screw with it. My blood can only do so much. You can still risk infection if you aren't careful." 

"Your blood is fucking acid poison from Hell! Wh-what the fuck is even IN this stuff?!" Rick demanded, panting as he watched the wounds continue to sizzle and hiss in his palm. 

"It just so happens that 'poison' is saving you from what could've been an otherwise serious problem." 

"Oh really? Because it feels like you just tried to burn my fucking arm off and give me your weird alien voodoo fuckin' space Ebola." He retorted begrudgingly, still wincing at the pulsating pain in his hand. You rolled your eyes, turning away to walk towards the overturned chairs. 

"Aethir blood does not carry any diseases, not commonly contagious ones, anyway. It is, however, highly infectious. Since my blood cells can multiply at a rate that doubles yours near ten times over if it senses a lower count, it can infiltrate the blood of other species and trick the native blood cells into accepting it as its own. That's why even with just a few drops, your wound will heal as if you were an Aethir, albeit at a fraction of the speed, but with all of the pain. Of course, a bit MORE of my blood, and you'd probably get some sort of cancerous effect. I've never seen it happen personally, but I assume that would be the case." You picked each chair up as you spoke and brought it back to its previous location within the room. Once everything was back in its place, you gestured for him to take a seat. "I brought more booze, but now I'm not so sure it's such a good idea to give it to you, considering the current state of your cell." You shrugged. "For now, however, you can at least have a drink while you're healing. It'll help numb the pain at least a little bit." For at least a minute or two, Rick didn't do anything but scowl and mutter curses under his breath, refusing to move. Finally, however, he seemed to cut his losses. 

"Can I at least put some clothes on? Or do you prefer I just stay naked for the rest of your time here?"


	4. Day 4

Day Four

My ex-wife? She's way out of the picture. As for the way it ended? It depends on who you ask.

I wish I could say I never felt as if I had any genuine feelings for that woman. The crazy bitch was an overly emotional, annoying, unbearable pain in my ass the entirety of the time I knew her. To this day, I don't know what I saw in her. That's why thinking with the head between your legs is a slippery slope. One minute, you're playing naked Twister with the hot blonde chick from across the street, the next, you're piss poor, your dick's in a vice, and you're thrown out on your ass by your possessed witch of a wife.

"Anyway, it's pointless to even bring up my failed marriage. It'd get waaay too confusing and convoluted for a fan fiction to explain effectively."

"Do tell, why is that?" You asked, leaning to your side with your hand propped beneath your chin, looking inquisitively at Rick. He opened his mouth, as if about to tell you something more, but then closed it.

"It doesn't matter anymore. It's over and done. History." Rick's brow flashed upward momentarily before he frowned, turned away, and crossed his arms over his chest. You examined his demeanor carefully, knowing there was always a bit more to a person's behavior than could meet the eye.

"If that were the case," you spoke softly and his gaze subtly shifted towards you, "your eyebrows wouldn't betray you." 

"Huh." Rick rolled his eyes dismissively. 

"Humans raise their eyebrows unconsciously when they lie." You stated confidently. He simply scrunched up his nose and shook his head as if he were disgusted. 

"It was YOUR mistake to take up pseudoscience, not mine. I don't need to be force fed your weird ass, asinine bullcrap." It was your turn to roll your eyes.

"Psychology isn't a pseudoscience." 

"Oh really? An Austrian crackhead claims that little boys all secretly wish they could have primal sex with their mothers based off of WHAT evidence, exactly? And HOW many people just blindly believe him like a flock of fucking sheep because, why?" Rick pointed out. You couldn't hold back a smirk.

"Sigmund Freud was only a human, you forget." You replied, but Rick wasn't finished.

"Psychoanalysis is the absolute height of pseudoscience, Doc. So is a huge ass portion of all psychology. Carl Jung too, and his weird ass fucking- what was it- medallion?"

"Mendala."

"Yeah, yeah, who even gives a shit, Doc? It's stupid! Yeah, I said it! Fuck Carl Jung! Fuck Sigmund literally-motherfucking Freud, and fuck every one of their dumb ass, toe jam licking altar boys. The fact that both pseudoscience and psychoanalysis start with PS should've been a big red flag. It might as well be PS: none of us actually know shit about how the brain works, so we are always frantically coming up with explanations, without having much of ANY proper evidence, that make us feel qualified to say what is going on when really, we're just as afraid of the unknown as everyone else." Rick flung his hands up in the air, allowing the chain around his wrist to tug his hand back down like a sack of bricks. Not even slightly winded by his lengthy explanation, he simply stared back to you, expecting a heated response. Instead, you remained completely collected as always, a behavior that always seemed to slightly rub him the wrong way.

"You're free to think whatever helps you sleep at night, Rick, but don't think you can make a fool of me." You crossed your legs, leaning forward to look him straight in the eyes. "You'd like me to think you don't care anymore about what happened with your wife, but if that were true, you wouldn't be stalling." He maintained his same aura of being unimpressed, but this only served to make you more determined to crack his exterior. "You'd like me to think you a hard, emotionless stone man, wouldn't you? That nothing really matters to you?" You raised your eyebrows meaningfully. "Because that would make life much simpler, wouldn't it? If you just didn't care?" 

"Please, don't even bother to enlighten me."

"Wouldn't it?" You persisted sternly. There was a slight pause. Rick, who previously refused to look you in the eye, briskly turned to lean closer and give you the dirtiest look a human could give.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me? It's not like anything that comes out of my mouth will change your diagnosis anyways." You smiled back, knowing you struck the correct nerve. 

"I know that you're not the man you want to be, or even the one you think you are." You spoke matter-of-factly, not taking your eyes off of his piercing and cold ones. He seemingly couldn't stop his staring either, as your smile fell in favor of a more serious, more sympathetic expression. "Stone men don't want to be cared for, Rick. You do. I can see it written all over your face every time I look at you."

"Oh, pl-EE-ase," he rolled his eyes stubbornly, "I'll let you in on a little secret. I only care about three things: myself, perpetually finding the amount of alcohol my bloodstream can absorb per hour before actually killing me, and science." He held up a finger after every item, just to emphasize his point. "Everything else is like a decaffeinated, su-UH-garless energy drink. Useless, and probably just gives you cancer." The comment would've made you laugh, had you not been determined to keep him on track.

"You're still toying with me. Don't think I can't see it." You crossed your legs, watching him carefully as his expression changed from anxiety, to irritation, and finally frustration.

"Christ, wha-? What the fuck is it with you and-and this...weird, unhealthy obsession with my wife? Seriously? Seriously, I don't get it! What do you even want from me, anyways? You want me to just- like, diarrhea my inner thoughts, huh? You want me to lay a huge turd full of all my crappy childhood memories so you can take a bath all in my shit?! So you can just- just fucking finger paint a mural of my libido or something with my feces?!" At this, you simply sighed and held your head in your hands as you shook it side to side. 

"No, Rick," you replied in a tired tone of voice, "I have no interest in doing anything like that. I only want to help you." Rick scoffed.

"You could've fooled me. How do you think this...this pseudoscience bu-UH-llcrap is supposed to help a-AH-nyone?" He crossed his arms skeptically.

"Well, for starters, it's more about your cooperation than anything else. So far, you haven't really been doing that." You pointed out. He snorted.

"That's because so far, e-EV-verything you've wanted to talk about has been stupid. I don't want to talk about stupid stuff." You rolled your eyes. 

"I don't think talking about your family is stupid," you asserted, "I'm actually fairly certain you're still just feeling guilty over whatever it is that you did all those years ago." 

"ACTUALLY," he raised a hand defensively, "I'm fairly CERTAIN that that is a fat load of dog shit. I regret only one thing, and that is getting married in the first place. Would've saved a who-OH-le lot of trouble." You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really, Rick? You regret having your daughter, too?" 

"I didn't say that!" He glared angrily. 

"By saying you wish you had never been married, you're also saying you'd gladly give up the effects of that marriage, and that includes your child. Is that really what you want?" Rick slammed his fist on the arm of the chair, raising his voice considerably.

"Of course not! That's not what I meant! I just-" he paused, thought for a moment, then sunk back into his chair with a heavy sigh, "you know what? I don't need to justify myself to bureaucrats. Or pseudoscientists either, for that matter, and you just happen to be both." He added with a haughty grunt. 

"I'm a psychologist, Rick, not a politician." You reminded him calmly. His juvenile insults were a mere product of his own insecurities. Even if they were directed at you, they could never faze you.

"Good for you," he fake applauded with a roll of his eyes, "What are you going to do if I don't bitch about my ex-wife, huh? Put me on time out? Cut open my nutsack with your high heels and sew it back together with your logic-defying voodoo blood?! Write passive aggressive notes about me in red pen on your little report card? Newsflash, bi-IIH-tch, I also happen to be in galactic prison, not fucking daddy daycare. This shithole makes Miss Hannigan look like the queen of the entire fucking Garptezorp kingdom, except instead of gold, their entire planet is built with their own diamond shit. Yeah, I went there. Good luck finding a reason for me to give a flying fuck."

"Look, Rick, if you want to just complain about everything I do, you are free and clear to do so. I'll remind you, however, that I'm the only friend you're ever going to get in here, and the only living being you're going to ever see again. You're in here for the rest of your life, Rick. That's on you, not me." You swallowed, feeling slightly guilty for pointing this out so harshly. "I don't know why it's so hard to see that just I want to know you better. I want to care for you."

"Yeah, I see that. I also see that you get paid to do those things." Rick shrugged. "I'll let you in on a little spoiler alert, Doc," he leaned forward, "there isn't a living creature that exists who actually cares about anything unless they can get something out of it. It's called a symbiotic relationship, you may THINK it has to do with friendship or love or something like that, but really- it's all just forming attachments for the sake of survival. That's all any relationship between organisms comes down to, mutual exploitation." Unintentionally, a new form of understanding of how this man works clicked in your head as he continued. "And if you ask me, I think that's because we're all weak. It's why I don't have friends anymore. It's why I think things like marriage are stupid. I don't need to fool myself into thinking it makes a difference whether or not I open myself up to others. In the end, I'm perfectly fine alone, where no one can use my genius for their own personal satisfaction." You watched with a new fascination as he leaned back again in his chair, crossed his arms behind his head, and clicked his tongue.

"You know something, Rick?" You folded your hands across your lap and looked down at them, pursing your lips momentarily. You weren't quite sure how you should form the sentence you sought to speak. "You captivate me." It wasn't attraction, it certainly wasn't love, but it was something compassionate, and that much was clear. Rick, of course, was taken aback. He looked at your form with widened eyes, and opened his mouth in a small "o" shape.

"I...captivate you?" You couldn't stifle the laugh that followed.

"You captivate me." You repeated. "Of course, Aethiri have been enamored by humans for thousands of years. Your mortality amuses us, excites us, and engages our imaginations..." You explained, albeit a bit awkwardly, due to the undeniable dusty pink glow on your patient's cheeks. He had definitely gotten the wrong idea about what you had meant. "Mr. Sanchez, I simply find your personality intriguing. That is all." Rick visibly cringed at the use of his name.

"Gross. Aren't you like, a billion years old? Doesn't that technically make you some sort of pedophile?" 

"Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine years, actually." 

"That's still twice as many digits as I've got. By your birthday, you'll have five, and I'll still be at a ripe two." You couldn't help but let out another laugh. 

"In my case, Rick, age is quite literally nothing but a number."


End file.
